Learning About Love
by bingblot
Summary: Temperance Brennan was a rational, logical person-- but what happens when she's faced with something that isn't rational? Will she learn or will her mistake ruin her friendship with Booth forever?
1. Chapter 1: Foundations

Disclaimer: 'Bones' belongs to Fox and Hart Hanson & Co (and somehow they don't seem inclined to sell it to me.)

Author's Note: I imagine this fic to take place sometime between Season 1 and Season 2 (because I wanted it to be before the advent of Cam.) Just an idea that came into my head and refused to leave until I wrote it out. I tried to make it in-character for Brennan but you can be the judge of my success on that front. At this point, I plan for this fic to be 4 chapters, plus an Epilogue.

This first chapter might seem a little choppy but all the little scenes and bits of dialogue kept coming and just wouldn't leave so I had to put it all in and wasn't entirely successful at connecting them together.

**Learning About Love**

_Chapter 1: Foundations_

Brennan knocked sharply on Booth's door, waited, but didn't hear anything. He had to be home at this hour of the morning, couldn't still be asleep, surely. Maybe he was in the shower?

She raised her hand again intending to hit the door with her palm but before she could, the door opened and instead of touching wood, her palm flattened on firm, warm flesh.

He had clearly just shrugged into his shirt.

He stiffened, sucking in his breath, at her touch and for a fleeting second, she didn't move, forgot where she was, forgot what she'd come here to tell him, could only stare at the muscled expanse of his chest and her hand, that looked very pale and delicate against his solid chest. She could only stare, conscious of the heat of him and the nearness of him and of her own sudden wish to move her hand, caress his chest…

But only for a moment and then she collected herself, mentally shaking herself, and snatching her hand away as if she'd been burned. (She knew it was irrational but she could almost swear she still felt the heat of his skin lingering on her fingers.)

"Sorry," she said quickly, not daring to look at him. "I just thought of something and decided to stop on my way to the lab."

He silently stepped back to allow her inside and she hurried on, suddenly unwilling to let silence linger and trying to pull her mind away from the sight of his chest—and her own, unwilling, instinctive reaction to it.

"Heather Costello didn't run away," she said flatly.

He paused in buttoning up his shirt. "How do you know that? The story checked out. She was unhappy and ran away, taking most of her things with her."

Brennan whirled around to face him, forgetting the earlier moment of awkwardness. "The picture, Booth, the picture on the wall by her bed. She'd never have run away without that picture." She paused and then went on, the words almost spilling out of her, her tone betraying more emotion than even she realized. "It was all she had of her past, her family. Would she ever have left that behind? I _know_ she wouldn't have. People don't do that; they hoard and treasure what little they have and she'd never have left without that picture."

"Then Sidwell's lying or his wife's lying," he answered, finishing her thought automatically even as his heart ached for her, for the shadows under her eyes and the pain in them. He knew this was a hard case for her, the victim was a 16-year-old girl in foster-care who had, according to her foster parents, disappeared a couple months ago never to be heard from again until someone had found her decomposing body, shallowly buried at the edge of a park. He wanted to hug her but didn't dare. She wouldn't welcome it now, he could see; she was firmly in her professional mode. "I'll go talk to some of the neighbors. Someone might have seen or noticed if Sidwell was home that afternoon," he told her.

She nodded. "I'll be in the lab."

He nodded as he let her out. "I'll call you, Bones," he promised.

"Thanks," she said, flicking her gaze up to his eyes before she left.

He watched her go before he hurriedly finished dressing, filled with a jolt of energy now that they finally had something to look into for this case. They had something to work with now. Heather Costello hadn't run away from her foster parents and then been murdered. Something else had happened. And Booth had the grim sense that he knew what. Only Hank Sidwell had had the opportunity to fake a runaway by throwing most of Heather's things out, probably in some public dump where it would never be found again. The question was whether he'd killed her first or if he'd somehow threatened her to make her run…

"We know what you did," Booth said coldly as he shouldered his way into the house, Bones beside him.

"What? You're crazy. I'd never--" he began but Booth could see the guilt in his eyes as they started shifting, looking frantically for a way to escape, a moment before Sidwell broke and ran.

Or tried to. He hadn't counted on Bones and she was too quick for him, grabbing his arm and twisting it behind him with that strength that was so surprising to those who didn't know her and then finished him with a kick to the groin.

Booth fastened the handcuffs on the man, prodding him none too gently out of the house and into the back seat.

He paused to look at Bones who was watching stonily, her expression hard and yet with a terrible grief mingled with anger burning in her eyes. He'd had the strong suspicion that Bones had once been abused in some way by one of her foster parents; her reaction to Heather's situation had been too strong, too personal, and she'd had a harder time of distancing herself. And now he was sure of it. That look in her eyes was so bleak, so raw, he was suddenly sure she was seeing and remembering someone else, something in the part of her past she never liked to talk of. (He fought back his automatic wave of fury at that unknown person; it was pointless and, at any rate, his concern for her easily pushed aside his anger on her behalf.)

He flinched and moved closer to her. He wanted to put his arms around her but this was neither the time nor the place so instead he settle for teasing, trying to gently tease her out of her bleak mood. "Do you want to borrow my gun?" And he was secure in asking because he knew her answer. Whatever else she might do, Temperance Brennan would never shoot a man who was already helpless, handcuffed.

He waited, hardly daring to breathe, before she let out a breath and looked at him. She didn't smile but her expression had eased, was still somber but no longer so frighteningly immobile. "No, thanks for the offer."

And he breathed again, his chest filling with sharp, poignant emotion. She was his Bones again.

He put his hand on the small of her back. "Let's get this over with."

And they did.

He dropped Bones off at the Jeffersonian and then put Sidwell into custody and the man broke and admitted everything in a remarkably short time, how he'd hit Heather and how she'd fallen so her head struck the sharp edge of the bed-frame, killing her almost instantly, and how he'd gotten rid of the body and then made it look like she'd run away by throwing most of her clothes into a trash bag and throwing it into a public trash dump out of the way.

It was over.

Brennan started at the sound of the knock on her door, hastily swiping at her eyes before she opened the door to see Booth, his arms full of a box of Wong Foo's.

"Booth, what are you doing here?" she asked, sternly suppressing the flare of gladness in her heart.

"I stopped by at the lab but Angela said you'd gone home and I figured you might not have eaten dinner yet. Besides," he added, giving her a charm smile, "I'm hungry."

She had to fight to keep from smiling in return, even as she stepped back to let him in.

It was only because she was hungry, she told herself. She was hungry and the smells from the box were making her mouth water. It was only the food, nothing to do with the man who'd brought it.

She knew the moment he saw the picture of Heather which she'd been looking at. She hastily grabbed the picture and put it away, back into the case folder and was thankful when he didn't pry.

But of course he wouldn't. She wasn't sure when it had happened but Booth always seemed to understand when she really didn't want to talk about something and knew when to distract her, or tease her, or even deliberately bait her into thinking about something else.

And as she'd almost expected, he kept the conversation light, inconsequential, as they ate and it was only later, once they'd finished, and a brief silence had fallen that he finally said, "Sidwell admitted everything. He was home that afternoon and he hit her and she fell, hitting her head on the edge of the bedframe."

"The trauma to her skull indicates that she was hit more than once," Bones said flatly.

Booth flinched. He hadn't wanted to tell her the rest. "Yeah. Sidwell admitted to punching her repeatedly and then even after she'd hit her head. He- he admitted to being drunk and then when he sobered up and realized what he'd done…"

"He panicked and he made it look as if she'd run away, dumping her things somewhere and then her body where we found her," Brennan finished.

"Yeah. Just like you'd predicted." He paused and then added, softly, "It's over, Bones. Heather Costello can rest in peace now."

She didn't say anything for a moment and then, finally, she said, "She was so young, Booth… And the Sidwells were supposed to take care of her…"

"I know."

There was another pause, another silence.

"I'm going to pay for Heather to have a proper funeral."

"That's… nice, Bones. Really nice."

"No one else was going to do it and Heather Costello deserves that much at least. A funeral might be a rather archaic ceremony but it still symbolizes closure, a final farewell and tribute to the deceased," Brennan said with an attempt at sounding coolly rational that failed.

He didn't say anything, only looked at her somberly, his eyes warm and understanding and _knowing_, as if somehow he knew why she'd reacted so personally and so strongly to Heather's story. And something about that look in his eyes made her admit something which she'd never told anyone else, had never even thought she would tell anyone else, and if she'd thought about it, probably still would not have told but her mouth opened and she found herself blurting out the words, almost against her own volition. "They hit me at one of those homes. It was the third one I'd been to in a year and the father drank, not that often, but when he had bad days and when he drank, he'd hit me. His son was older and not home but I was an easy target." She let out a shuddering breath, almost the first sign of emotion in what had otherwise been a very stark, emotionless confession. "That was when I decided to learn martial arts. I was helpless and I never wanted to be helpless again. I learned martial arts and then how to shoot as soon as I got to college so I'd always be able to fight, always be able to defend myself. I told myself I'd never be helpless again."

Booth's hand had clenched into a fist at her first words, filled with a depth of rage he'd never felt before at the thought of anyone hitting a young Temperance. He wanted to shoot the damn bastard who'd done it, wanted to kill him for hurting his Bones even so many years ago. To abuse a child… it was heinous.

"Heather… was helpless. And she had no one to protect her…" Brennan swiped angrily at the tears in her eyes. She didn't want to cry, not now, not anymore. "Someone should have protected her…" Her voice trembled a little in spite of all her efforts to control it and then before she'd realized what he was about to do, he'd moved and had pulled her into his arms for a hug.

And even though she'd long ago stopped expecting comfort in the few times when she cried, at that moment, she couldn't help but cling to him, her arms curling around his neck as she buried her face in his shoulder. For just a moment, she let herself enjoy the solid strength of him, enjoy the comfort of his presence and the belief, illogical as it was, that his shoulders were broad enough to shoulder the weight of her troubles… It felt so good to be held, to have someone's—no, to have _his_—arms around her, the inexplicable and irrational comfort of a touch.

But it was only a moment before comfort slowly turned into something else, a dawning awareness of just how close they were, with his arms holding her against the length of his body. It felt good to be held but what had been merely comforting had become pleasurable in an entirely different way. He'd taken off his jacket soon after he arrived and she could feel the muscles of his back and shoulders; the heat of his skin seemed to burn her through the thin material of his dress shirt and her own shirt. She could feel her body heating, softening, molding itself to his, was suddenly, intensely aware of the fact that her breasts were flattened against the hard planes of his chest… She wanted to let her hands move, explore the taut muscles of his back. She wanted to turn her head and touch her lips to his neck, taste his skin…

That awareness galvanized her into action and she pushed him away, twisting away from him with a motion so abrupt it was almost violent.

"I'm okay now, Booth," she hastily said, busying herself with clearing up the remains of their dinner to avoid looking at him. "Really, I'll be fine."

She wasn't looking at him but she could almost swear she somehow sensed the look of surprise and burgeoning hurt he gave her, except that was impossible. How could she possibly know how he was looking at her when she wasn't even looking at him? Clearly she'd spent too much time with Ange and with him if she started imagining such things.

"Thanks for dinner," she went on rather hurriedly. "And thank Sid for me too, next time you see him. Or I'll thank him when I see him next, whichever comes first." She was aware that she was essentially talking nonsense but she was too nervous to be quiet, too nervous and too aware of him.

Clearly it had been too long since she'd had sex or her body wouldn't be so sensitive. It was just a natural thing, to be seeking out those elevated levels of serotonin in the brain that made a person feel pleasure. That and the fact that Booth was present and a personable male.

That was all it was.

Her natural biological instincts were asserting themselves.

Satisfied that she'd managed to reduce her inconvenient reactions to him to what they were, she glanced at him to see him shrugging back into his jacket, having clearly taken the hint that it was time for this little interlude to end.

Ridiculously, she knew a swift pang of something very like regret—regret that he was leaving (although she'd decided it was time he left) and regret, too, that he had put his jacket back on, disguising some of the strength of his form.

Ridiculous!

He looked up at her and she hoped desperately that her expression was its usual, coolly detached one.

"See you later, Bones."

"Bye," she said as he headed for the door.

But at the last moment, just before he stepped through the door, some compulsion made her rush forward. "Booth."

He paused and glanced back. "Yeah, Bones?"

She had no idea. She didn't know why she'd called him back. She thought frantically and finally settled for asking, lamely, "Will you be coming to Heather's funeral tomorrow?"

A flicker of confusion crossed his face. Understandably, given the inanity of the question. "Of course."

_Stupid, Temperance! _She managed a small smile. "Okay, good. Thanks, Booth."

She reached around him to open the door, trying to pretend she wasn't aware of the warmth from his body.

He stepped outside and turned to give her a last quick smile. "See you, Bones."

She watched him go for a long moment, before she realized what she was doing, staring after a man like some teenage girl with a crush, and then shut her door so firmly it was almost a slam.

Utter foolishness!

That was Booth, her partner and her friend, but nothing more.

_~To be continued… _

A/N 2: Booth wants you to make me happy by leaving a review… Really, he does… Ok, so maybe he doesn't, but I'm sure he would if he knew how happy reviews make me. Please?


	2. Chapter 2: Problem and Solution

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Author's Note: Thank you, everyone, who's read and reviewed. I appreciate every single one, even if I don't respond personally. And now for the real plot of this story and the idea that started this entire thing…

**Learning About Love**

_Chapter 2: Problem and Solution_

Temperance Brennan prided herself on being logical.

When she had a problem, she identified it and then thought through possible solutions in a calm, rational, logical manner. It was what she did.

And right now, she had a problem. A problem which could be summarized in two words: Seeley Booth.

She lusted for him. She could not deny it any longer.

Yesterday, after the funeral, he'd driven her back to the FBI building so they could finish up the paperwork having to do with Heather Costello and as he drove, she'd found herself distracted by staring at his hands on the wheel. He had very nice hands for a man, she reflected, strong and capable but, as she also knew, his hands could be very gentle too. He drove and gestured with one hand as he talked and she'd found herself staring at his hands and wondering what those hands would feel like on her body…

She felt a flash of heat go through her at the thought. She had no doubt he would be wonderful. He was physically fit and a very nice example of masculine musculature which boded well and moreover, he was kind and considerate which made the likelihood that he would also be a considerate lover higher.

She found herself glancing at him sideways throughout the drive and then later in his office and when he'd driven her back to the lab after the paperwork was done.

He'd leaned close to her to look over the file at several points and she'd been very aware of the scent of him, the warmth from his body, and had to fight the urge to lean back and turn her head so their lips would touch…

He'd noticed her distraction and commented on it and she'd managed to shrug him off with an excuse that she was thinking about a Limbo case she'd been working on earlier that morning.

He'd just smiled and shaken his head a little—and she'd had the sudden urge to kiss the corner of his lips where they curved upwards.

She shook her head to clear it of the memories; that was getting her nowhere.

The point was that she had a problem. She was physically attracted to Booth and this physical attraction was distracting her at work and making her less efficient than she liked to be.

She wished she could have simply satisfied her biological urge with some other man—one she did not work with—but her body had quite clearly made up her mind that it wanted Seeley Booth and no other, at least not at the moment. She'd deliberately tried, more for academic purposes than anything else, to view some of the other FBI agents as potential lovers but found that her mind persisted in merely comparing them to Booth.

She had a problem but she'd thought about it and she'd found a logical solution. Not an ideal solution but then this wasn't the ideal situation and she dealt with reality as she found it, not as she wished it was.

She knew Booth found her attractive. She had caught the way he looked at her sometimes and the way he touched her, on her back or her shoulder or her arm, light, protective, all indicated a degree of physical comfort that spoke of some level of attraction.

She glanced at the clock to see that it was past 8 at night and the lab was empty except for her.

Good. She didn't want anyone else to know about this.

Decision made, she quickly pushed the speed dial button on her cell phone for Booth; he was the first number on her cell phone now and she idly wondered when that had happened.

"Hey, Bones. What's up?"

"Hi, Booth. I- uh- I was wondering if you could come over to the lab."

His tone changed, became sharper. "What is it? Is something wrong?"

"No, no! It's just—I wanted to- to show you something," Brennan improvised quickly, reflecting that it wasn't a lie. If she had her way, she'd be showing him something alright.

"Okay… You're sure you're alright?"

"Yes, Booth, I'm fine. You don't have to go all alpha male on me." She would never tell him that she didn't mind it, usually, when he was. She'd missed having someone be concerned about her, someone who looked out for her, in those lonely years after Russ had left and somehow Booth had become that person who always looked out for her.

Except that her feelings for Booth were not remotely sisterly.

She could hear his smile in his voice. "Okay, I won't. I'll be there in a few minutes."

She closed her phone and glanced around at her office to see that it was in its usual neat state.

She closed the blinds on her windows; there might not be anyone at the lab now but there was no point in taking chances if anyone decided to return for some reason.

She was aware that her breathing was shallow, her pulse quickening in anticipation, could feel her body heat rising as well and, after considering for a moment, deliberately took off her lab coat and then, after another moment, unbuttoned her blouse a little more.

She didn't normally indulge in the usual female rituals to attract males but for this once, for Booth, she figured it couldn't hurt.

The memory of his bare chest flashed through her mind, sending another flicker of heat through her body. The first moment she could, she wanted to strip his shirt off him and explore his chest with her hands and then her lips…

"Bones, what is it?"

She turned to smile at him as he entered her office, glancing around quickly.

"Hi, Booth. That was fast."

He shrugged a little, giving her a quick grin. "I was curious. So, what do you have to show me, Bones? I don't see a skeleton."

She closed the door, softly but firmly. "I didn't really want to show you anything. Not really."

He gave her a questioning look. "Then why--"

She slid onto the couch next to him, invading his personal space.

He leaned back a little. "Bones, what…."

She gave him a smile that telegraphed her intentions clearly and she saw his eyes widen a moment before she said, softly, "I wanted to do this," just before she kissed him.

He stiffened in surprise but a moment later, he'd responded, had pulled her against his body, as he deepened the kiss, slanting his lips over hers, the motions of his lips and his tongue effectively clearing her mind of anything at all except the desire to be closer to him.

He moved on, his lips tracing over the curve of hers before moving on to caress the line of her cheek and her chin, and as if from very far away, Brennan heard someone give a strangled moan, only to realize belatedly that it was her.

She slid her arms around his chest, tugging his lips back to hers, so she could kiss him with more force.

She'd wondered, for longer than she cared to admit, if Seeley Booth was a good kisser. And now she knew. He was an amazing kisser, his lips and tongue just seemed to know how to engage with hers…

Her body was positively burning now and it took a colossal effort to drag her lips away from his, breaking off from their kiss, and then hastily retreating backwards until she was standing a few feet away. She couldn't think straight being so close to him, certainly not with his eyes dark and hot with desire as he stared at her…

"Bones, I…" he began before trailing off, his eyes wandering over her flushed face and then down over her body, lingering on the cleavage revealed by her blouse.

She had to fight for some coherence. _Think, Temperance! _She'd never been so powerfully affected by a kiss before and the realization only strengthened her resolve.

"I- I think we should have sex," she blurted out.

He blinked, stared at her, as her flat statement fell into the silence in her office, broken only by the sound of their breathing.

Booth felt as if his world had just tilted, leaving him dizzy and disoriented—for the second time in five minutes. Only Bones could do this to him…

He'd walked into her office, a little concerned as to why she'd called him, only to have to fight his distraction at the sight of her. Her expression had been… soft, her face flushed, and she'd looked as beautiful as he'd ever seen her. (Admittedly, he'd never seen her look not-beautiful, didn't think it was possible, really.)

And then she'd sat down, so close to him, he'd forgotten to breathe and given him that smile—a seductive smile—which he'd never seen on her before—and he'd thought he might just have died and gone to heaven.

And then she'd kissed him—and he _knew_ he'd died and gone to heaven.

God knew he'd dreamed of this—of kissing Bones, of having her kiss him—often enough and it was… It was… better than any dream, hotter than any fantasy… The reality of her, her warm and soft body pressed against his, the taste of her, the feel of her lips and her tongue, had all been infinitely hotter than anything he'd ever imagined…

He didn't know what he'd done but he thought he might have to be more grateful the next time he went to Church because this was a miracle. And then he forgot to think at all and only felt…

And now—he felt like he'd just been punched in the head.

Her blunt words had been about as unromantic as… as… a pile of bones and for the first time, he felt a flicker of dismay break into his haze of desire and love. Something was very wrong here. "What?"

She swallowed and looked down before she looked back up at him and her expression had the same effect on his arousal as a bucketful of ice-cold water would have had. She had her detached, rational expression on, even if it did contrast oddly with her still-flushed cheeks and swollen lips.

"I- I've figured it all out, Booth. It's the logical, rational solution to this problem," she began.

Booth inwardly flinched. _Problem_. She called this a problem. _He_ was a problem… Pain was beginning to seep into him as he began to realize just what this was.

"I am very physically attracted to you, Booth. It's been distracting me at work and I just can't have that. My work—it's too important to me, and to, well, the victims. I need to be able to focus and I haven't been able to lately, because of you. So I thought that we should just have sex and I could get this—get you—out of my system and then I'll be able to give my work the attention it deserves."

Every word she spoke—and worse, the tone she spoke them in, her cool, logical tone—sliced at him with all the surgical precision of a scalpel and if it hadn't hurt so damn much, he might almost have laughed, bitterly, at how he could go from euphoria and arousal to _this_ so quickly. "No, Bones," he finally managed to grind out.

She stared at him, looking confused. "No, what?" She had the _gall_ to look confused after what she'd just said?

"No, I won't have sex with you," he clarified, almost welcoming the flare of anger he felt, nurturing it. Anger was better than hurt. He'd rather be angry at her. It made this easier.

"But- but you're attracted to me too."

Booth let out a bitter, unamused laugh. "No, Bones, you don't get it. I'm not _attracted_ to you. That isn't what this is to me; it isn't what you are to me."

"I don't—I don't understand."

"Yeah, I get that you don't understand," Booth retorted, his tone clipped. "I thought—I thought you might but I guess I was wrong about you." He paused, trying to contain his breathing. His heart felt like it might burst out of his chest, swelling with pain and anger, and he had to look away, focused on his shoes, on her desk, on anything but her, as he forced himself to continue. He didn't know exactly why he was confessing all this except some part of him made him. Let her know just what she'd done. "I'm not going to have sex with you," he repeated, "not like this. Never like this. I want you, Bones, I won't deny it but it's not only that. It's because—it's because…" God, was he really going to do this? In all the times he'd imagined telling her the truth, he'd never once thought that his tone might be so harsh, never thought his heart would be aching like this, even as he was, simultaneously, so angry at her he felt as if he could shake her. "I'm _in love_ with you, Bones."

She shook her head in automatic, instinctive denial. "No, you- you aren't. It- love is just about the chemicals in our brain--"

"Don't, Bones!" he cut her off sharply. "I really don't need to hear you listen to another of your attempts to reduce things down to their anthropological or biological roots. Love is real and it can't be explained away by science. And until you learn to accept that some things like love just can't be reduced down to bits of science, you are going to be one very lonely person."

He stopped, running out of words, and simply looked at her for a minute as she stared up at him with her eyes wide, with her usual expression of mingled confusion and denial whenever she was confronted with anything that didn't fit into her neatly-ordered, scientific world.

He suppressed a sigh. She was still so beautiful to him… But at that moment, he had to accept that it was over. He loved her but she could never give him what he wanted, needed, in a relationship; she wasn't capable of it. He understood that it was because she'd been too badly hurt in the past; he knew why it was so hard for her to trust. Once burned was twice shy, after all, and Bones had been burned more times than he cared to think about. But understanding didn't make it any easier to wait until she was ready and he was beginning to doubt if she would ever be ready. He couldn't do this anymore. He couldn't keep hanging around, trying so hard to be everything she needed and hoping she would one day realize that he loved her and would never hurt her.

He'd thought his heart had broken when Rebecca had refused to marry him years ago—but this, this hurt so much worse… He had to fight the urge to clutch his chest in an irrational attempt to ease the pain. He felt as if he were dying.

"Goodbye, Bones," he said quietly and walked out of her office.

Leaving Bones to stare after him, feeling oddly as if her chest had been hollowed out—_a physiological impossibility_, a small voice in her head spoke up—but for once in her life, she ignored the rational note and just accepted the metaphor, because it was the best description of how she felt.

And she had the sudden feeling that, rather than leading her to a solution, this time, her ultra-logical mind may just have led her to a very big mistake.

_~To be continued… _

A/N 2: *ducks and hides* If I promise to make things better, will you not kill me? (Although, maybe, if I ask very nicely, I can have a certain former sniper turned FBI agent be my personal bodyguard… A girl can dream, right?) Thanks for reading and please review!


	3. Chapter 3: Learning from a Mistake

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Author's Note: Thank you, everyone, who's read and reviewed this story and added it to their favorites list. I appreciate every single one, even if I can't respond to you all individually. And now, a Christmas gift for you…

**Learning About Love**

_Chapter 3: Learning from a Mistake_

She told herself it would be fine the next day or the day after that, that Booth couldn't really love her. Love was just a word, she told herself, used to justify our primitive, biological needs. It was just a word, like any other word, and they could still be friends.

They _had_ to still be friends. She didn't care to put a name to the feeling that went through her when she thought about not being friends with Booth but it was there and it was undeniable. She didn't have enough friends in her life, she knew that, and her group of friends consisted of the rest of the squint team and Booth. She couldn't lose Booth as a friend; it was why she'd decided to try out Angela's 'friends with benefits' idea with him as it was. She was attracted to Booth but she didn't want to risk their friendship with anything more so becoming friends with benefits—just once—seemed to solve the problem.

She didn't hear from him at all the next day. It was unusual that she didn't hear from him; he usually called her during the day at least once, even when they didn't have a case. But the fact that he didn't call her didn't mean anything, she told herself. She couldn't read anything into it.

And anyway, his not calling and not coming by allowed her to get more work done. She was more productive without him around. (She sternly suppressed the little voice in her head telling her that she might be more productive but she was also less… happy… smiled less.)

She told herself that but nothing could quite suppress the little burst of joy she felt in her chest the next day when she saw Booth's name flashing on her caller ID. Her throat was suddenly, ridiculously tight and she had to fight to sound normal. "Hi, Booth."

His voice was clipped, abrupt. "They found a body. In Shenandoah National Park, in a cave. Grab whatever you need and meet me outside the lab in 10 minutes."

With that, he hung up and she was left to stare at her phone blankly, dismay seeping into her.

He was being professional, she told herself. It was just the tension of a new case, that was all. There was no reason to be upset.

With that, she hastily gathered up her things, changing into the lab uniform as more suitable for tramping through a national park, and she was out of the lab with her evidence bags and everything else she might need.

He gave her only the barest glance and a stiff, "Hi," when she got into the SUV and then he had started the car and they were off.

She glanced at him as they drove but his expression was blank, stony, concentrating only on the road.

And for once, while they drove, he had music turned on loud enough so as to make any conversation impossible without shouting.

She was thankful for the music; she wasn't sure she could have borne the silence since Booth didn't seem at all inclined to talk.

She missed him talking to her, she suddenly realized. She'd never really thought about it but she liked the fact that he talked to her when they drove, not just about work but about other things too. He teased her for not having any people skills, for being a freak, but he never treated her like that. He treated her like a person, like a friend.

Or at least, he had.

They had to hike a little ways to actually reach the body and he walked swiftly, following the Ranger who'd been left to lead them to the site, leaving her to follow.

There was something odd about this, she was vaguely aware, but she couldn't place it and was inclined to dismiss it (she didn't believe in gut feelings) but the feeling persisted, although she tried to ignore it as she made her way over the rugged terrain.

She stumbled briefly, not enough to fall but making her grab on to a convenient tree, before she regained her balance, glancing at Booth only to meet his eyes for a fraction of a second before he looked away. She kept her eyes fixed more carefully on the ground, even as she realized what was making her feel so odd. It was because Booth wasn't helping her in any way. Almost always whenever they went anywhere, he kept a hand on her back or his arm around her shoulders, light, protective, ever-present. It was another sign of his alpha-male tendencies and she'd long ago stopped mentioning it, just letting him have his way since it didn't really hurt her and he was clearly incapable of doing anything else.

But not today and she found herself missing it, that light, guiding touch of his hand on her back, with an intensity she'd never expected to feel.

He was right in what he said sometimes, that she generally didn't like to be touched. She wasn't one of those "touchy-feely" types and usually tended to react badly (if not downright violently) when someone else invaded her personal space—but that rule didn't apply to Booth. She'd gotten accustomed to all his little touches, even appreciated them and the protectiveness they showed. How much she'd grown to appreciate them she hadn't even realized until now, when he was clearly avoiding touching her or talking to her or anything else.

They reached the area in continued silence and the silence lasted even as she examined the skeleton.

Booth directed his questions entirely to the National Park police and other members of the team that were there to help gather up the evidence but he never addressed her.

They drove back to the Jeffersonian in the same stony silence except for the music.

Finally, she couldn't take it anymore and she began, "Booth, I--"

"I don't want to talk," he clipped out, interrupting her.

She gave in. Clearly talking to him now wasn't going to achieve any purpose.

And that was the closest thing they had to a conversation during that entire drive.

He still had the music turned on and she turned her head to stare out the window, beginning to feel a flicker of irritation at him. Why was he so upset with her? Because she'd essentially propositioned him? She was a woman with biological urges and he was a single, attractive male; why shouldn't they satisfy each other's biological urges especially since it was clear they both wanted to? She suddenly found herself remembering the kiss in her office and felt a reactive shiver of heat go through her before she stiffened and sternly tried to push the memory out of her mind. That would _not_ do her any good.

He was being irrational, she decided. He had no right to judge her for her entirely logical decision to solve their problem.

She welcomed the anger, almost nurtured it.

And then the song that had been playing ended and in the next moment, she heard the beginning strains of 'Hot-Blooded' fill the car.

She stiffened, sucking in her breath audibly, and glanced at him to see him flexing his jaw the way he did when he was trying to contain some very strong emotion. It was just a few seconds before he jabbed angrily at the button to move to the next song but the damage had been done.

She hardly registered the music, could only hear 'Hot-Blooded' running through her mind, could only see him dancing around in her apartment—and then the explosion that had cut the evening short so brutally. And her anger died as quickly as it had arisen, leaving only guilt behind.

How could she be angry at him when he'd saved her life and nearly been killed for it? She remembered again the soul-searing relief she'd felt when she'd heard the shot hit Kenton and looked up to see him, bruised and battered and limping his way into the warehouse… She had never been so happy to see anyone in her life.

He'd saved her life, had left the hospital long before he should have, to save _her_… He had helped her find out what had happened to her mother, had brought Russ back into her life…

He had been the best friend she had ever had in her life, in spite of her lack of social skills, in spite of all their disagreements. She didn't know when it had happened but at some point, he'd replaced Angela in her mind as her best friend…

And she'd propositioned him, essentially reduced him to a sex object and nothing more.

God, what had she done?

She almost ran into the lab once he dropped her off, feeling thankful for the first time that he wasn't following her inside, and she threw herself into identifying the body, as if by doing this one thing, she could somehow atone for her mistake. And as always, focusing on her work helped her, comforted her.

But she was conscious—amazingly so—of his absence. More noticeable for not being there than for being there, like air on an X-ray, she thought. His absence made her feel hollow inside, something similar to the way she felt if she skipped a meal only this feeling was in her chest…

But it was only later, when he returned to the lab after some hours away, that she realized, fully, just what she had done to their friendship and she realized, too, just what she'd lost.

He came striding into her office and asked, without preamble, "Have you ID'd the body yet?"

"Yes," she answered. "His name was Gary Shelton, 33, from Baltimore. He was reported missing by his wife 4 months ago."

He nodded. "Ok, I'll go contact his wife." He turned and walked out again and as he left, he said, "Thank you, Dr. Brennan."

She stifled a gasp, feeling as if she'd been punched in the stomach, with those four words, so coolly spoken.

_Thank you, Dr. Brennan. _

He'd never—not since the first day they'd met—called her Dr. Brennan, except occasionally in jest. When they'd first met, he'd called her Brennan, as she'd told him to, and then almost immediately afterwards, he'd started calling her Bones, after she'd once given him one of her usual speeches about how useful skeletons could be in telling her a person's story and revealing their life, when he'd expressed some disbelief at her findings.

"Don't call me Bones," she'd told him then and continued to tell him until—and she couldn't quite remember when this had happened—somehow she'd stopped saying that to him. She'd stopped minding the nickname, had even grown to like it—although she would never have admitted it.

She liked that he had a nickname for her. It made her feel… like a normal person. She was Dr. Temperance Brennan and that was what people called her but the title, Doctor, did rather imply some distance and while she preferred people call her simply Brennan, that too implied distance. No one had ever given her a nickname, not as long as she could remember. A nickname was a sign of… affection, of at least some level of intimacy, was expressive of a bond between two people—and it was a bond which she had never really had.

Until him. Until Seeley Booth had walked into her life and he had, somehow, for some reason, decided to overlook her abrasiveness of manner and treat her as a friend as well as a colleague.

_Bones. _

It was his name for her and she had, unconsciously, grown to like it, appreciate it for what it meant. It had been, she thought, an endearment of sorts…

_Thank you, Dr. Brennan. _

And that was, irrationally, the one thing that had her eyes stinging with unwilling tears.

She had the sudden, absolutely illogical urge to run out after him, to make him—somehow—call her Bones again.

She wanted to be Bones again. She wanted to be _his_ Bones.

_His. _

She froze as the single word settled in her mind. _His. _

She had tried, so hard, since her parents had disappeared and Russ had deserted her, to keep herself distant, told herself she didn't need to belong to anyone else. She belonged to herself and that was enough or so she'd told herself.

Now, though, the thought of belonging to someone made a pang of longing go through her. She wanted to be _his._ His Bones, his friend, his partner—and, yes, his lover and maybe more…

She suddenly remembered telling Angela that one of the things she'd missed the most after Russ had deserted her had been knowing that there was someone who worried about her, who cared where she was at all times. She had missed it—but what she hadn't realized until now was that she hadn't missed that in these last few months. Booth had worried about her, cared where she was; there was no other explanation for why he called her even on days when they didn't have a case. And she'd pushed Booth away—just as she'd pushed Russ away for so many years before she'd realized how much she still wanted to have Russ in her life…

"Hey, Bren, Hodgins says he's identified some of the particulates that might help identify where the victim was killed and Zach says he found some irregularities in the bones."

She heard Angela's voice and swiped hastily at her eyes, trying to look busy, but she should have known better and Angela stopped the moment she saw Brennan. "Hon, what is it? What happened?"

Brennan shook her head a little and Angela continued, "I thought I just saw Booth leaving." And she must have seen some reaction in Brennan's face because she went on, "Did he—what did he say or do? I can't believe he would--"

Brennan cut her off. "He called me Dr. Brennan."

"Oh."

And even though she tried to will them back, the tears returned and Brennan looked at Angela with something like despair. "Oh, Ange, I did something awful and I don't know if Booth will ever forgive me."

"Oh, sweetie…" Angela pulled Brennan into a hug and then almost guided her onto the sofa, sitting next to her. "I'm sure he'll forgive you. This is Booth we're talking about. But what did you do?"

"I told him… I told him we should have sex."

For a fleeting moment, shock flattened Angela's expression before it was replaced by confusion. "And why is that so awful? You and Booth belong together and I know he wants you."

Brennan shook her head. "No, Ange, you don't understand. I- I told him we should have sex, just once, to… to get this attraction I feel for him out of my system. I- I told him it was just the logical thing to do, just a physical thing."

Angela didn't move physically but Brennan could sense Angela's withdrawal and her disapproval. "You didn't. God, tell me you didn't say that to him."

"I did. I just… I couldn't stop thinking about him, Ange, and it was distracting me and I thought—I wanted—oh, I don't even know what I was thinking except the friends-with-benefits idea clearly wasn't a good one."

Angela sighed and squeezed Brennan's hand, any last irritation dying at Brennan's obvious regret.

"Sweetie, did it ever occur to you that you care about Booth a lot more than as just a friend and partner? And I _know_ he cares about you."

"He said… he said he's in love with me."

"I knew it."

"But he hates me now, Ange," Brennan said dully.

"He does not hate you, Bren, I'm sure of it. He's angry and probably hurting right now but I promise you, that man could never hate you." Angela took Brennan's hand, meeting her eyes. "Look, sweetie, just go to him and tell him you're sorry. Tell him you care about him as more than just a friend and you don't know what you were thinking to say it would only be sex but you want more than that. Tell him you want a real relationship with him."

"But I…"

"No buts, sweetie. You have to tell him and stop hiding from yourself or you really will have lost his friendship. I never really took the chance with Kirk and I will regret that forever but you, Bren, you don't have to. You have a chance here to be happy with a good man who loves you and that doesn't happen every day."

"But what if it ends badly? Most relationships do end, statistically speaking. What then?"

"Stop borrowing trouble before it happens. Yes, it might end, but you'd be happy while it lasted and the chance that it _won't_ end is worth the risk. You and Booth… well, I really think he might just be The One for you."

"I don't believe that there's only one person who's meant for you," Brennan interjected almost automatically.

"Then don't believe it but at least give Booth a chance. Give _love_ a chance, Bren; it just might surprise you."

Brennan looked up at Angela through watery eyes. "I guess… I have to, don't I? If I ever want Booth to talk to me again."

"And because you care about him, sweetie," Angela reminded her gently.

"Yeah, I do," Brennan admitted, so softly it was hardly audible, and Angela had to fight the urge to cheer over Brennan finally admitting to having feelings for Booth. It was about time!

"Then tell him, sweetie. You have to."

Brennan nodded, just once, and then she hugged Angela. "Oh Ange, you're such a good friend."

Angela returned the hug. "I love you too, Bren. Now just go over and say those words to a certain sexy FBI agent… right before you jump him."

Brennan choked on a laugh. "Angela!"

Angela grinned at Brennan. "You know you want to."

"Well, I- he- he has the symmetrical features that… that would seem to indicate a good breeder," Brennan stammered, trying to sound clinically detached and failing.

Angela laughed. "Yeah, that's one way of putting it. Do me a favor and just tell Booth you find him sexy, okay?"

"Okay," Brennan agreed and then found herself adding, on a crazy impulse (see what spending so much time with Angela did), "If his kiss is any indication, Booth must be really good in bed."

Angela stared at Brennan as if she'd just announced that she was going to quit her job and join a hippie commune before she laughed. "I never doubted it but you can tell me all the details later, after you've already experienced Booth in action." She gave Bren an exaggerated wink.

And Brennan couldn't help but smile, feeling immeasurably more cheerful, Angela's simple faith that Booth would forgive her comforting.

He would forgive her. She just had to apologize—and confess the truth about her feelings for him. That was all—and everything…

_~To be continued… _

~*~

Author's Note 2: All I want for Christmas is reviews (well, not really, but I've given up hope on getting Booth for Christmas so…) Thank you for reading and I hope you all have a wonderful Christmas!


	4. Chapter 4: Willing to Learn

Disclaimer: Still don't own 'Bones' or anything related to it.

Author's Note: Apologies for how long it's taken to post this but first the holidays and then classes starting again got in the way. As always, thank you to all of you who've read and reviewed and added this to your favorites list. You guys are the best.

**Learning About Love**

_Chapter 4: Willing to Learn_

Brennan knocked on Booth's door and then waited, shifting the box of Wong Foo's in her arms. She'd decided, on impulse, to stop off at Wong Foo's to get food first and she'd brought the case folder for what they'd managed to find from Gary Shelton's remains, out of a vague idea that she could use it as an excuse—or something—if it didn't go well.

She had never been so nervous in her life.

Even defending her dissertation, she'd been calm and confident that her research and her work was as good as she could get it.

Now, though, she was nervous, her heart beating erratically.

It seemed like an eternity, although rationally she knew it was probably about a minute, before the door opened.

Booth's eyes flickered from her face down to the box of Wong Foo's and the folder from the Jeffersonian lying on top of it and then back up again. "What are you doing here?"

Not the most welcoming question in the world but she took a breath and continued. "I- I wanted to talk to you. I brought dinner," she added inanely. "Can I come in?"

For one terrible second, she thought he would say no, thought he might just close the door in her face—but then he stepped back silently.

"What more do you know about Gary Shelton?" he asked abruptly.

"He- he suffered multiple blows to his head and upper torso and the likelihood is that he was left to bleed to death. Zach is working on trying to identify the weapon or weapons used to inflict the blows," she answered automatically, putting down the box of food and hesitating a little before she looked up at him. "Booth, I didn't come here to talk about work."

He visibly stiffened. "Brennan," he began, his voice curt, but she cut him off, interrupting him.

"I'm sorry, Booth! I'm sorry for what I did and what I said. I- it was a mistake and I should never have done it."

He sighed, passing his hand over his face in a weary gesture. "Look, Bo—Brennan," he corrected himself hastily and she felt her heart give a painful leap at his near-slip. He'd almost called her Bones. That had to mean something, right?

"Call me Bones," she blurted out, on impulse. He would understand that for what it truly meant, wouldn't he?

He stopped, staring at her and she met his gaze, for once not trying to hide anything but simply letting him see all he might be able to read from her expression—whatever there was to see. He was the people person, after all, and he… he understood her.

Booth simply looked at her, seeing all her sincerity and her regret and something warmer still in her eyes, and felt the last remnants of the wall he'd been trying to build around his heart crumble into nothing. Even if part of him was still wary, even if part of him still told him he shouldn't, he knew he was going to give in, knew he was going to forgive her—no, already _had_ forgiven her. It was a foregone conclusion. Irrational and insane as it might be, he couldn't resist her, couldn't stay angry at her for long.

These past couple days had been some of the longest and hardest of his life. If he'd thought his gambling addiction had been strong, he'd realized that his addiction to _her_ was even stronger. He didn't know how many times he'd picked up his cell intending to call her only to forcibly stop himself—and then when he'd gotten the information about the body found in Shenandoah, his heart had leaped involuntarily and he'd had to delay calling her until he'd managed to work up his anger and his hurt again. But, God, it had been so hard! So hard not to talk to her and tease her so he could see her smile, so hard not to touch her, so hard not to try to help her (even when he knew she didn't need help, it was hard)… And as for what it had felt like to call her Dr. Brennan, hard wasn't the word for it. He'd known it would hurt her and even in his own heartbreak, it hurt _him_ to hurt her.

He really was pathetic, he thought a little grimly. But the fact remained that he couldn't resist her. Temperance Brennan was his weakness; she'd gotten under his skin and into his heart and now he couldn't get her out. She was Bones, _his_ Bones, and he… he loved her…

He sat down beside her on the couch, although he was careful to keep some space between them. "Bones," he said, briefly, acknowledging her. Just the one word but she felt herself relax, immeasurably comforted.

"Booth, I- I want to explain why I did what I did that night."

"Okay, explain," he said a little curtly and she wondered if she was imagining that he'd just moved further away from her, wedging himself more tightly in the corner of the couch.

Brennan let out a breath. She wasn't good at emotional, relationship-related conversations; wasn't good with emotions and relationships in general. She was a scientist; science made sense to her, was what she was comfortable with. This- this was not scientific. And she wasn't used to talking about emotions or relationships with anyone besides Angela and even then, it didn't really come naturally.

"I- I'm not good with relationships, Booth, and- and we've gotten to be friends. Haven't we?"

"Yeah, Bones, we're friends," he said, rather gruffly.

"It's not that I don't want emotional connections with people; I understand that it's important but… but it's just… I- I have a hard time connecting…" she trailed off. "My- my head just doesn't cooperate with my heart, I guess."

She paused, studying the floor, while she tried to think of words. She _hated_ how inarticulate she felt in situations like this. She was a smart, articulate woman, a best-selling author—and yet, when it came to things like this, to _human_ things, she was reduced to this, stammering and incoherence, and she hated it. It's why she tried to avoid situations like this, why she tried to keep everything rational. But this—this wasn't rational. Not much to do with Seeley Booth had ever been rational and she didn't know how to put into words something she didn't quite understand herself.

She finally looked back up at him to see him watching her, his gaze steady and warm and calming, somehow, and she realized, suddenly, how very familiar that look was. It was the look he gave her whenever he listened to her talk about anything personal, the look he gave her when they were talking about her parents and Russ… It suddenly struck her how much she'd shared with him. She'd told him things she'd never really imagined telling anyone…

"The last case about Heather made me realize just how close we'd gotten and I think… I got scared," she finally admitted.

Something flashed in his eyes and he leaned forward a little. "I'd never hurt you."

"I wasn't scared of you," she corrected him. "I was scared of… me."

The slightest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "That's the least rational thing I've ever heard you say, Bones."

"I mean… I'm not good with relationships. I've never really had a long-standing relationship. I thought… Michael might be…"

His face darkened at the mention of Michael Stires and she blinked a little. "He was a jackass," he clipped out.

A small laugh bubbled out of her, surprising her, at that flat statement. "Well, he wasn't always but… he was the closest I ever got and you know how that turned out. So when I- I thought about you, I just got scared. I tried to rationalize it and thought it would go away."

He sat up straight, retreating from her just that little bit.

Brennan lowered her eyes to the floor again. She didn't know how to look at him as she went on, suddenly remembering what Angela had said about just telling him she cared about him and then jumping him. That wasn't going to happen—but it was suddenly tempting. "I told you the truth that night when I said I was-_am_- attracted to you. But I- I lied when I said it would only be sex."

She heard him suck in his breath sharply but didn't look up at him. This was it. She needed to tell him now. "Booth, I- I care about you," she blurted out. "You've become my best friend along with Angela and- and you're important to me. I- I hate knowing that I hurt you…" She trailed off, knowing her words had been inadequate but she had no more words.

He didn't respond for what felt like an endless amount of time although she knew, rationally, that it was probably only a minute or so, and she was beginning to wonder what more she could say, what more she needed to say, when she felt his hand touch her cheek.

He cupped her cheek with one hand, gently turning her face until she had to meet his eyes, could see the expression on his face.

"Bones, it's okay," he said very softly. "I'm not going anywhere."

It was completely irrational but somehow it was only then, when he forgave her and she could see it in his eyes, that she felt the tears come. She wasn't sure whether she made the first move or whether he did but it didn't matter; all that mattered was that she was in his arms and he was holding her as she clung to him.

And just like before, the last time he'd hugged her like this, she felt herself reacting, her body softening, molding to his, as she inhaled the familiar scent of him. But this time, she obeyed the impulses of her body and turned her head to touch her lips lightly to his neck.

He stiffened at the touch and she went on, pressing slow kisses to his neck and up along his jaw until he gave a muffled groan and pulled her in tighter against him as he turned his head so his lips could meet hers.

It wasn't a gentle kiss; it was from the first a hard, heated melding of lips and tongues, as their tongues dueled for dominance, an equal exchange of desire and passion. She'd wondered… if they would be as physically compatible as their interactions suggested… and now she knew… they definitely were…

The thought drifted through her mind and then out of it and she gave up the attempt to think, for once. Stopped cataloging her body's responses, forgot the science of arousal. There was only him, his lips and his tongue and his mouth and his hands roaming over her back, sliding under her shirt to touch her bare skin until she shivered and pressed herself against him…

And then he gentled the kiss, his lips softening, one of his hands sliding up to cup her head, tilting it to allow him better access. A shred of something like coherence returned and she vaguely realized that he was telling her with his kiss that this was more than just physical passion. His touch was… tender… and she suddenly wondered if she'd ever known tenderness from any of her lovers before, only to know that she hadn't.

Sex had always been about satisfying simple biological urges and nothing more. Michael had been the closest she'd ever gotten to a real relationship out of bed and even with him, it had been a competition between them. Booth was different; Booth was more…

He finally ended the kiss with palpable reluctance, allowing them both to catch their breaths, but even then, his lips didn't leave her skin, skating along the line of her jaw and down her throat until she gasped and moaned, feeling liquid heat flood her body.

"Bones," he groaned. "God, Bones, you—tell me… this is real…"

"It's real," she gasped, turning her head to kiss his ear, his cheek, his chin. "Let's go to bed, Booth," she breathed into his ear.

He groaned again just before his lips caught hers in another searing, thought-stealing kiss.

"You have no idea," he told her huskily, "just how many times I've dreamed of hearing you say that."

She gave him a small, half-flirtatious smile. "Well, then, what are you waiting for?"

She climbed off of him and stood up, tugging him with her, as he pulled her into his arms to kiss her again.

They stumbled blindly towards his bedroom, still kissing, shedding items of clothing as they went…

She must have dozed because Brennan regained consciousness gradually, aware of the pervasive sense of well-being almost weighting her down.

"Booth?" she mumbled only to be met with silence and when her hand reached out, it only found his sheets and she finally opened her eyes to confirm that, yes, she was alone in Booth's bed.

She frowned, amazed at the intensity of her disappointment, although she could hear some faint sounds from outside the room that told her where he was and the sheets still retained some suggestion of his warmth so he couldn't have been gone long.

She grimaced a little at her own illogical reaction and turned over, sitting up in bed, keeping the sheet tucked securely over her breasts. She felt as if every inch of her body had been imprinted with him, by him, his lips and his hands and his body—and for once, she didn't mind the feeling.

She relaxed further against the pillow, a small, satisfied smile playing on her lips before she heard his step and a moment later, Booth appeared in the room, holding a tray in his hands.

He had just pulled on his boxers and she felt a small shiver of anticipation go through her at the sight of his bare chest. He really was the most beautiful specimen of a man…

"You're awake, good. I got hungry and then I remembered that you brought food," he said giving her a charm smile.

She smiled involuntarily—his charm smile always had that effect on her and she only hoped he didn't notice.

He slid gingerly onto the bed until he was sitting beside her, his back propped up against the headboard, before he lowered the tray to rest on his lap. "Eat up, Bones."

She was, she realized, hungry too and the room was silent for the next few minutes as they both ate.

Later, after Booth had lowered the tray onto the floor and then resumed his former position, she let herself lean against him, one hand resting on his chest as he slipped his arm around her shoulders, tucking her in closer against his side.

"Bones?"

"What, Booth?"

"I love you."

He said the words quietly, not as if he were making some sort of declaration, but as if he were only putting into words a truth she already knew.

She stiffened a little. "I- I know," she finally said, lamely.

She both heard and felt his sigh and hastened to continue, even as part of her wondered when she'd become this person who hated to know that he was hurt. She'd always been satisfied to simply tell the truth as she knew it to be, believed the truth was more important than telling people what they wanted to hear—but somehow, with him, truth mattered less to her than not hurting him. "I- I care about you, Booth, you know that. You're my best friend and I- I don't want to hurt you."

"But you still didn't say it."

She hesitated but then admitted, "I- I can't, Booth. I know I care about you and I want to be with you but I don't know if that's love, don't know if I'm even capable of that sort of love." She paused, dropping her hand from where it had been resting on his chest and straightening up so she was no longer leaning against him—at least, straightening up as much as she could with his arm still around her. "I'm sorry, Booth. Are you sure you want this, to be with me? I- I don't do relationships, not really, and you- you should--"

He cut her words off with a kiss, a kiss that was long enough and forceful enough to empty her head completely and leave her blinking at him when he finally pulled back.

"No, Bones, don't say that," he said—well, ordered, really. "I love you and I'm not going anywhere. Just don't run away from me, Bones, don't run away from _us_. And for the relationship thing, you can learn. I don't think there's anything you couldn't learn once you put your mind to it," he said, with a smile.

"Dr. Goodman once told me I had a disturbingly steep learning curve," she responded slowly, half-absently.

"See? So you'll learn. Some things are more than just the sum of their parts."

"Like what?"

Booth suppressed a sigh, even as he smiled a little, brushing his lips against her forehead. Of course she had to question him. He tried to say something profound and still she questioned him. Naturally. This was Bones after all and she did like to have the last word. And he loved her for it. It occurred to Booth that he had problems.

He thought for a moment. More than just the sum of their parts?

"Like people, Bones. People are more than just the sum of their parts. Even if you assemble all 206 bones-" he saw her smile and paused. "What?"

"I didn't know you knew how many bones were in the human body."

"Do you think I never listen when you and the squints talk?"

She shrugged one shoulder, the sheet slipping down a little further, distracting him so he had to forcibly pull his mind back to what he'd been saying.

"Even if you assemble the skeleton and have all the tissue and cartilage and muscle and skin and organs and blood that make up the parts of a human body, that doesn't make it a person; it doesn't give it life. You know that, Bones." (In some detached corner of his mind, Booth reflected that with no other woman in the world would he use an analogy involving bones, organs and blood to explain something like love, but this was his Bones and she was nothing if not unique.) "A person is made up of more than that; they're made up of their personalities, their beliefs, all those things that make a person unique. _People_ are more than just the sum of their parts, Bones. And so is love. You can try to reduce it down to the chemicals in our brain but that doesn't explain it all."

She was silent for a moment, mulling it over; he could see her thinking about it and allowed himself a small, tender smile at how familiar the expression was. "You're right, Booth. That makes sense."

He grinned, feeling the usual surge of triumph he always felt whenever she said anything complimentary. One word from her meant more to him than a speech from anyone else, except for Parker.

She poked him in the chest lightly with one finger. "You don't have to look so smug about it," she scolded but her tone was mild and a smile was tugging on her lips, glowing in her eyes.

"Dr. Temperance Brennan just told me I was right about something. Of course I'm going to look smug," he responded, only half-teasingly.

She laughed—God, he loved to see her laugh—and he gave in to the impulse he'd felt every time he'd seen her laugh in the past few months and kissed her, soundly, kissing the smile from her lips until all thought of amusement vanished and there was only her, the warmth of her, the taste of her…

And his last coherent thought was that he would rather have Bones, complicated and stubborn and brilliant and challenging as she was, than anyone else in the world. He didn't need the romantic declarations, didn't need to hear the words, 'I love you'; all he needed was _her_, his Bones, and he was somehow sure things would be fine.

_~*~_

_Author's Note 2: This isn't quite done yet! I do have an Epilogue planned (although at the moment, it only exists in my head, so it might take a while to post it, especially as classes have started so I've got less time to write than ever). Thanks, as always, for reading and please, please review and give me something more fun to read than my textbooks. _


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